dairy-of-fucking-isolation

[dairy-of-fucking-isolation]

21/07/2020

I feel like I have some overdue crying to do. Which is a bizarre feeling all together. It can’t be all about a man. Again. A different man, but the same pain?

Not sure really. My head is still pounding from the air pressure change. I already did three loads of laundry today and unpacked my suitcase. Being at my sister’s always gives me some energy to do things, as she’s a bit disorganised.

I think I’m hungry? Not sure for what really though. This annoying feeling of being suffocated is approaching again and I hate it. Why would someone be so good, nice, funny, brilliant even and then just go totally loco, silent and just weird? 

My anxiety gives me a packet of some chewing gums. It makes me want to dwell on every thought for way too long than necessary. I don’t really feel the taste of any thoughts anymore, and all the flavours of feelings are mixed together and gone. I don’t even know if I’m feeling hungry, angry, sad, disappointed, happy, inspired, excited, tired or what the fuck. Honestly. 

Maybe I didn’t have time to grief the end of my previous relationship as the lines were blurred and the drip with powerful emotions and comfort were constantly supplied to my veins anyway. On demand. Now, I can see its true picture and maybe it’s more wonky and uglier that I would like for it to be.

And in the train’s window I saw my future and it was so bright and full of letters written to the best places and so clever and great. and now I’m back with a emails to catch up, laundry and meals to coordinate. 

And yesterday I was looking at the sky and clouds from a plane’s window and everything made sense. Everything was so plain to understand. That we are just passing in life like those clouds. We are making some random shapes, trying to connect, moving very quickly and chasing the next moment. 

And how I’m back with my freedom I’m holding in my chest, but why does it feel like I’m stuck in a cage? 

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12/07/2020

I ran up the fourth floor holding a bag of flour for pancakes in the same victorious spirit just like Rocky did. Three minutes before the shop is closing. Winner! Instead of seeing the view of Philadelphia I just saw a poster of one of the candidates for Polish President. The General Election is here. Together with Sunday chicken soup, a bunch of flowers for the visit at the cemetery and a messy hair of our dog which we like to call a ‘little brush’. 

A week ago I was just approaching a sticky train station and I was excited and hardly breathing after a long journey. There she went the longest journey since the beginning of the lockdown, and in this year all together. Back in the land of timeline of past- present and the alternative future mixed together in the shadow of my feet and falling right on to my toothbrush. 

A couple days ago we were still breathing the mountain’s air and enjoying the freedom of true holidays. We only went on two trains and a bus through half of Poland to get to that tiny little bit of a map the furthest south on the map. 

Without twins, without my sister it would be a totally different adventure. When are you with your fam, with your dearest it feels like you are making memories. You are baking them every hour and just watch the pie grow slowly with every sunset you spend laughing together. 

From this time we can collect memories in some piles, like:  ‘ the time when Lena fell into a brook and had both of her shoes totally soaked’. It ended with a truly McGaver’s move ( does anyone know this reference anymore?) of my sister making her socks out of plastic zip bags which were sticking out of her shoes in two different, fluorescent colours while the inside of the shoe was covered with sanitary pads soaking all the water out of it. How resourceful of us! And how lucky that we are using pads not tampons - totally against what the culture of ‘invisible periods’ tried to encourage our habits. 

We were sitting on a bus swirling up the steep hill and the tall mountains were plastering the view outside the windows and hypnotising out attention. It was almost too wonderful to believe it’s true and you only have to drive to the other end of your mother land to see this beauty. And some people can see it daily when reaching for their sugar jar every morning. 

You are starting your hike, every single step is a new thing and you have no idea what will be waiting for you around the corner. On your way back you want to feel like Aragorn or at least Pippin coming back from a long journey, where three hours of hike has changed you already. If only.

We were sitting on a meadow, looking at the most stunning view when a herd of sheep suddenly started moving very fast like the most cuddly and cute lawn movers you could imagine. Before we could turn around we were surrounded and some other tourists were looking at us with jealousy that we managed such a close encounter of cowbells/ sheep bell symphony of idyllic views. I thought I’m a city girl who needs a tall, old building made of bricks and history to invite astonishment, but I felt in this place like I knew it from some sort of most relaxing and wonderful dream I ever had. And I just took a long, deep breath. 

Not overrated at all is it? The breath we are all taking now and can’t find it on a shelf in a local shop, but collecting it neatly on a bedside table and hoping it will be enough by the time this thing will end. 

I watched the face of an old, wrinkly highlander man with a suntan tired of lines of tourists. We were a fish, he was trying to catch us to pay his rent and for a butter to spread on his everydayness. I wanted to learn more about him, his routine and rhythm. The lines he is serving semi patiently to the bunch of city goers trying to tick off each view from the list of things to do.

I wanted to know the story of a little, old lady selling gherkins on the route to the valley, how this is her behind the wooden stall looking at the shoes of tourists and waiting for a change and a string of coins to drop in her pocket. Does she have a great view when back at her four walls? Does she paint her pain on the calendar of months?

All these stories were trying to glue itself to my skin like a little sticker you are supposed to collect in a book and complete the level of understanding. 

The journey back home was even more sticky and full of hotness and dirt of a long, old distance Polish train on a very hot day. There was a little girl who was looking over my shoulder, there were people standing in the corridor, there was me standing with my head sticking in the window going in a speed motion through the bricks, roofs and trees of my motherland. 

When we arrived in Warsaw just an hour before jumping to a speed train - which wasn’t speedy at all - we went outside to be greeted by the weirdest bunch of creepy clouds and some sand (!) falling from the sky. Yes, I’m absolutely sure it was sand as all four of us spread our palms and saw the tiny rocks between the lines of my fingers. We just didn’t know if the world was planning to end right there or  are we just missing the mountains and sheep so much. Then, our bag with a glass bottle inside was smashed in the moment of a train approaching and a leaking bag in a shape and colour of lemon was dragged to another sticky corridor while a proper thunderstorm decided to take the electricity and delayed the journey by an hour. Yep, Warsaw is still not making any good impressions on me - soz. 

All the adventures. Well, I’m off to make face some more in the lazy colours of my hometown.

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cigarettes

if I still smoked cigarettes I would have one right now.

What a weird, random thing to say. 

It is an absolutely perfect night for smoking one. Staring at the sky, green leaves are dancing, they’re drunk on May’s smell. It’s so easy just to sit, breathe, smoke and think what the hell this living is all about. That bitter taste on your tongue, and smell of it on your hand. You love hating how disgusting it is. Is this a philosophical wank or a run across memory lane?

Maybe I’m back to teenage years and long walks with my dog. Cigarettes free, just sitting on a swing for too long, looking up to the sky and thinking of this big world waiting for me to chase all these dreams only a town girl could have. 

I think my last cigarette was at Primavera three years ago right before/ right after Run The Jewels gig. I remember sitting on a concrete floor for this one. 

Why do I even care? It’s because I have promised someone I won’t smoke. I have dreamt so many times that I had another cigarette. I was also drunk and asking for one puff so many times that I don't know which one is a memory and which one was only the imaginary one. Such a random thing to be dreaming about. 

I know for sure that I said I won’t ever smoke almost three years ago to someone I love the most in the entire world. It doesn’t matter if she’s alive or not, loving her will be always in the present tense.

Now you are thinking that I will go back and summarise my last three years again and look at them laying on my palms or in a google photos link. Maybe I can go even further - four years ago I was at the Globe theatre seeing a play, three years ago I wanted so badly to believe that everything will be okay, but deep deep down I knew that this is not possible. Two years ago I was in Poland for twins' first communion. One year ago it was just a day in May and right before seeing Chemical Brothers at All Points East. Till late August last year I still lived in a flat which was so awfully bad that my brain decided to wipe out the shittest part of it from my timeline. 

It’s almost like a trivia quiz for my own memories. Where was I two years ago and how did I feel on the same day? Did I squeeze that moment hard enough? Was I actually in that moment or worrying about something five minutes away?

And so what. So what from this list of memories. There are people I didn’t even know or didn’t know as much three years ago and now they are important part of my life and always on the top of Whatsapp messages list. I didn’t know them then and now we are sharing catalogs of days, laughs, emails and hangovers. There are also people who were there with me and it’s not possible to go a day without them.

Now, we are in the lockdown and I have never sat down crossed legged so often in my entire life. Even as a little kid, even as a scout by a campfire, even as a teenager on a school corridor.  

Now, we are pretending days have a name and hours on zoom are hours in a pub. We are forcing routine on our clothes. We are making sure that lipsticks will remember our upper lip and eyelashes know how to land gently under a coat of mascara. 

We are all dreaming lockdown dreams. Mines are about tall cities, hanging out with my mum, big houses I have only seen in my previous dreams before, running away, giving birth and ... some more or less horny scenes. Not all at once of course. Don’t judge me, you know how it is. 

This is not a paint by number art piece. This is just a nostalgic breath hugging some air on a May evening.

[dairy-of-fucking-isolation]

DAY 21 - 5th APRIL

Laying down on my bed with all the doors open wild. 

The air is running through the house and filling it with the laughter of the spring. 

Birds are chirping and my black coffee is just hot enough.

Silent vibrators are not on sale anymore. I missed my spot. I ordered some garden lights instead. 

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my favourite current view. 

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DAY 20 - 4th APRIL

Today it would be her 62nd birthday. 3 years ago it was the last one when she was alive,

Today I’m sitting in my garden, right in the middle of the sunshine spot, reading a book and listening to the music. State of the absolute bliss despite the world falling apart on the other side of my front gate. I’m ignoring it all. 

Today I’m teleporting in time. The sun is kissing my closed eyelids and I’m there, at home with her dancing to our tunes, welcoming spring with open arms and going for long walks with my dog.

Today I’m going to the simpler times which still had a sour taste of pain and problems. The longing of going to the big world and following whatever was the big dream was spread on my bread like butter and jam.

Today I’m feeling her right next to me, I can almost see her in the corner of my eye.

She was my spring. She was my best friend. She was my everything. 

She was my Mamu.

Today the little aftertaste of hangover is vibrating on the back of my head. 

Today is only me and my heart and pages of the book.

Today I can touch the spring in the air and the sky is empty from the planes. 

Today I’m right here and I’m right there with her at the same time.

Today I’m hiding m&m’s in my side pocket and smiling with tears sliding down my cheeks. 

Today I’m nodding my head and feet to the nostalgic rhythm of the memory machine.

Today I am me.

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DAY 20 - 4th APRIL

thank fuck for the garden and the sun 

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keep your friends safe in oranges pile.

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DAY 18  - 2nd APRIL

‘Hard to Explain’ song on - all the feelings are here on the plate  

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anniversary of this great, great movie! ‘10 things i hate about you’ 

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DAY 17- 1st APRIL

It is so so very easy to start serving ourselves guilt trips of what we are doing and what we are not doing and why. I started riding on a horse of guilt even about this blog, which is supposed to be a diary for documenting, but also just a writing exercise and purging thoughts and pain  - to feel better not to create another duty which brings a heartache. 

So the question for today? Are we all in just a massive simulation?

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that was the DAY. that is THE MEMORY. this is my phone screen saver so I can see her smiling face all the time.

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DAY 16 - 31st MARCH

It happened. I’ve lost count of the days and today apparently it’s the last day of March.

The longest March in history. The weirdest March ever. The one which is like the picture before and after as literally half of it doesn’t belong to the ending part. At all.

Exactly three years ago I had my suitcase in hand and my Mamu and twins surprised me at the airport in Poznan as I came over to my hometown for a week to celebrate my Mamu’s bday together. None of us knew that would be her last birthday when she was alive (as it will be her birthday soon, I will still celebrate that) and it was the last time she was feeling okay ish. 

But now the memories of her complaining about really bad back pain are coming back to me. Maybe I should do something then, maybe I shouldn’t go back to London then at all? 

Would that change anything?

31/03/2017 it was a beautiful sunny day, we were walking around town centre and laughing and taking photos. We were so very happy then.

Today, the same suitcase was touching London’s pavements and queuing with me to tesco. Actual mission of going to the shop, grabbing everything from the list, not touching anyone or anything, social distancing from everything including lamp posts and trees as they suddenly look much more like people. 

Contrast of a happy, innocent day with the day when I'm putting a brave face on and waiting to be on the other side of it, even though it seems only like the beginning.

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DAY 14 - Sunday 29th March

apparently it was a very windy Sunday.

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DAY 13th - 28th MARCH

I just got off a call with my friend. We had an impromptu dancing sesh, just like that.

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books books books. gifts!